Best Tony Awards Ever
by Quatorz
Summary: Rachel Berry has been nominated for her first Tony Award. Santana and Brittany are watching from home when Rachel accidentally reveals some very personal information...


**Title**: Best. Tony Awards. Ever

**Author**: Quatorz

**Rating**: R (language)

**Word Count**: 5,560

**Continuity**: Takes place after the series.

**Summary**: Rachel Berry has been nominated for her very first Tony Award. Santana and Brittany are watching from home when Rachel accidentally reveals some very personal information...

**A/N**: This was actually my first Glee fic (written before 'Or Forever Hold Your Peace) and takes place a couple of years after they graduate. Another Santana-centric one.

* * *

Brittany plopped down on the couch beside her. "I just looked online: I think Rachel's category is next."

"About time," Santana scowled. "How many awards do they have for the same stupid thing?" They thought Rachel's category was up thirty minutes ago when they announced 'Best Performance by an Actress in a Leading Role'.

But no. Most of those were movie actors that she actually recognized. Turned out that category had been 'Best Performance by an Actress in a Leading Role in a Play'. Berry was nominated for 'Best Performance by an Actress in a Leading Role in a _Musical_'.

Okay, two things: one, could the names of their categories be any fucking longer? Shit, she couldn't even annunciate the entire thing in one breath. And two, what's the difference? It should either be a movie, a TV show, or one of these Tony things. Big screen, little screen, stage. That's it.

But it was probably good that they did differentiate. From what Santana read, Maria Bello was the second coming in some new David Mamet play, and a lock to win best actress.

_Ahem_. Sorry'best performance by an actress in a 'play'-not musical.

So that was good news for Berry. Santana dreaded the idea of having to call if she lost. Rachel was notoriously a bad loser, and having to hear her blubber on the other end of the phone for an hour? No thank you. So it was no biggie when Maria Bello beat out a bunch of actresses that she didn't give a shit about.

Except for the old lady who played 'M' in the Bond films. She was pretty cool-but didn't she win Academy Awards and shit all the time?

Share the wealth, Santana reasoned.

"We'll return to the 72nd Annual Tony Awards," the announcer teased, "after these messages!"

"Dios Mio," Santana whined to the blonde, "how many commercials are there?"

Did they _have_ to watch it? I mean, did anyone who wasn't in show choir _actually_ watch the Tony Awards? She didn't even know they were on until Berry told her.

"We're not going to be able to make New York," she'd lamented to the diva when she called to break the news.

"Oh, that's okay," Rachel replied (not sounding all that disappointed now that she thought about it). "You can just watch it on TV."

"The Tony Awards are on TV?" Santana blurted out.

Rachel just laughed. "Are the Tony Awards on TV?" she scoffed. "You crack me up, Santana."

"That's me!" Santana chuckled along with her. "Yeah, Britt and I watch them every year. We'll rent a little karaoke set-up and..."

Why she made up some story about how much they loved the Tony Awards she had no idea. It was just flowing so easily that she went with it.

Thinking back on it now, she turned to her companion"Hey, if Rachel asks you, we make a big deal about watching the Tony's."

Britt's eyebrows knitted. "Danza," she nodded, ticking off one finger, "but who're the other ones?"

"..." It was in these moments that Santana understood the sound made by one hand clapping. It was no longer an abstract Zen concept to her. "I love you," she smiled to her wife. Brittany beamed and snuggled a little closer.

Santana's back stiffened. "Hey, what _did_ she mean?" she wondered aloud, remembering something else about her conversation with the diva.

"Oh, I don't _really_ think she can't believe it isn't butter, San," Brittany explained, "I think it's just the commercial." She pointed at the TV.

"No, sweetie, I mean Rachel," Santana clarified. "When I talked to her last week I told her I was sorry she'd be alone for her big award 'cause we couldn't make it.

"She just said 'Oh, I won't be alone'-but then changed the subject_ really_ quick."

The blonde just shrugged. "Maybe Mike and Tina made it up?"

"Maybe," Santana acknowledged. Yeah, that had to be it.

_Another_ commercial followed, and Santana appealed to Brittany"Can't we just see who won in the morning?"

Her spouse shot her 'the look' and she folded like a chintzy lawn chair. Fortunately, a ding! from the microwave drew Brittany's attention. "The popcorn!" she exclaimed, springing up from the couch to retrieve it.

_Oh, Jesus_, she rolled her eyes. Britt and her junk food. The blonde still had the metabolism of a sixteen year old. Running a dance studio helped that, of course, but she could sit in bed eating Bon-Bons all freakin' day and not gain an ounce. Santana had to work her _ass_ off to keep her figure.

She was proud of her body, and Britt definitely appreciated the time she spent keeping in shape, but her darling Brittany could eat that whole bowl of popcorn and go right to sleep-whereas she'd have to put in thirty minutes on the stair master if she ate a couple mouthfuls.

_Unless I can talk Britt into an alternative form of exercise_, she grinned.

Brittany returned with a bowl of hot buttery goodness, and Santana gleefully grabbed a handful as she waggled her eyebrows. Brittany answered with a coy smile tugging at the corner of her lips. She knew that look.

"I'm so proud of her!" Brittany gushed about their old teammate.

Hmm? Oh right: Berry. Santana was proud of the little spud too. She hated saying that because it was like finally drinking the Kool-Aid and buying into the whole 'Legend of Rachel Berry' thing.

_Haven't you?_ she chuckled to herself. Hell, she hadn't only bought into the legend, she helped propagate it.

After all these years it was hard not to believe in the incredible determination of Rachel Berry. Her Tony-nominated role was for Fannie Brice in the Broadway revival of 'Funny Girl'-Berry's favorite musical. And Santana could remember Mini Streisand-wayyyy back in junior year-sulking because they'd announced its return.

"That's ten years too early!" the brunette lamented.

But the diminutive diva-down but never out-burst into Glee club not two days later announcing that she'd sent a tape to the producers _imploring_ them to wait for her to make her Broadway debut-because she was so obviously the only choice for the iconic role.

Santana had just laughed. She was used to the dwarf's antics at that point (and even found them somewhat endearing), but leave it to Berry to outdo herself. Which was good: she knew how to keep it fresh.

But wouldn't you know it: that next November-literally weeks before the show was supposed to debut-'Funny Girl' was put on indefinite hold. Santana would always remember the triumphant look on the diva's face when she shared the news-_completely_ ignoring Mr. Shue's rational explanation that the investors backed out because of the economy-and competition from a number of high profile revivals debuting that season.

Rachel just smiled and nodded as she listened, and Santana realized it didn't matter to her. Deep down, Berry totally believed that fate had laid a hand.

The economy, the investors, competition: all of that was just the window dressing, the particular agents of fate. It didn't matter _how_ it happened, it only mattered that it _did_ happen: the defining role of Rachel Berry's career had been put on hold for her. That's just how it went in her world. That's how she saw things in her twisted little mind.

The fact that the diva was now on the cusp of winning her first Tony award (God, did she really just say _first_?) for that very role was not lost on Santana. Dammit, sometimes it was hard not to believe.

_I'll take a shot a Kool-Aid, straight up. Make it a double_.

Santana would admit that she'd done her part to spread the Gospel. A couple of months ago-after seeing the reviews online that praised 'Don't Rain on my Parade' as the emotional highlight of her performance-she wrote an article about her all-time favorite Rachel Berry performance.

It wasn't on Broadway, or even off-off Broadway: it was for the Sectionals qualifier of the show choir competition in their sophomore year.

For once in her life, Santana put aside all her cynicism, all her sarcasm-all her 'vicious, vicious words' as her darling bride once put it-and just wrote from the heart.

The result was an epistle to the theater going public about the day a sophomore-a girl who'd been picked on relentlessly and had no business feeling as confident as she did about herself-put her entire team on her shoulders and-on the fly-belted out the most amazing performance Santana had ever heard.

Was the article a little over the top? Maybe. Some of the comments certainly seem to think so. But Santana was _there_. She remembered: there was no preparation, no practice. Berry just went out and did it, marshalling them all like a General'you go here; come out on this mark; No, we'll emerge from the back of the auditorium'

-and brought the fucking house down.

She'd never seen anything like it. To this day she still got goose bumps thinking about the roar in that auditorium when Berry hit that final note. It was electric: that audience knew that they were witnessing a once in a lifetime event, like a perfect game in baseball or a buzzer beater to win a championship. It was something they would tell their friends about:

_I was there the day Rachel Berry became a star._

So-yeah-she was proud of Rachel. Truth was she'd become one of her and Brittany's best friends. Funny: it was almost impossible to believe that Quinn's badgering them to join the Glee club-just so she could keep an eye on Finn Hudson-would turn out to be one of the best experiences of her life. Looking back, given who she was then (hint: rhymed with 'ditch'), she's surprised she didn't fake some lame ass excuse and bail on Quinn.

Thank God she didn't. Glee club gave her not only her wife but also her closest friends in the world.

She'd kept in touch with all of them: Tina and Mike, Mercedes, Sam, Rachel (obviously), even Puck.

As for her old Cheerios captain: she didn't see her in person very often but they'd exchange emails or catch up on Facebook.

She kept up with pretty much everyone-

Except Artie. And she felt bad about that-she really did. It wasn't fair to him, it was just-

Santana was able to admit-now-that he'd had been a halfway decent boyfriend to Brittany. And as much as it pained her to say it: the blonde really did love him. It was only because _he_ screwed up that cleared the way for her and Britt to be together.

She turned to look at her wife and accepted that-even after all this time-that still scared the living shit out of her. Like, what if...?

_Sorry, Artie,_ she mused, _you and Pennywise: two scariest things in the mutherfuckin' universe_.

"And we're back," the announcer declared. "to the 72nd annual Tony Awards! And now, live from Radio City Music Hall, Neil Patrick Harris!"

Santana smiled and shook her head to clear the impending clouds, glad of the change of subject. Tonight was all about Rachel after all, not her lingering insecurities.

_Yeah, thank God there aren't many of those_, her brain chided.

_Shut up_, she replied. Apparently her innate sarcasm originated in the bowels of her subconscious. Wonderful.

On screen Neil Patrick Harris was at the podium. She loved him. He was her favorite gay.

Kurt was her second favorite, followed closely by Blaine (because that boy was always so stylin'!), but after the fourth Harold and Kumar movie, she was Team Neil all the way.

"Our next category," NPH beamed, "is for the 'Best Performance by an Actress in a Leading Role in a Musical'."

"Oh thank God," Santana blurted out. The suspense was killing her. She scoffed: like she could have waited until morning.

Britt grabbed her hand as they read the nominees, cheering with a small 'Yay!' when he announced Rachel Berry. "She's so got this!" her wife declared.

Santana hoped so, but the competition was fierce. Rachel was up against two previous winners: Sutton Foster (a two time winner, the announcer informed them) and Idina Menzel-who, weirdly enough, kinda looked like Rachel.

Also nominated was Lauren Ambrose for her role in 'A Little Night Music'. That's where the real drama was (at least according to the press) because Ambrose was the actress originally cast in the 'Funny Girl' revival before it got scrapped. Rachel beat her out for the role when the opportunity arose again, and now they were going head to head for best actress tonight. Cat fight!

Well, a day without drama-

Santana racked her brain to complete the metaphor, but came up empty. A day without drama just didn't exist for Rachel Berry. She was, like, a perpetual motion generator, a mini fusion reactor-only for drama. Drama _Queen_? No, try'Drama Totalitarian Dictator', or perhaps'Drama Galactic Empress'. Those suited her better.

"San, look at her," Brittany raved, "she looks so pretty!" Santana smiled. Britt sounded like a proud mother.

Santana bit her tongue because she _almost_ said that aloud. She didn't even want to get started down that road. Let's just say that Brittany had recently noticed her biological clock, and Santana was _soooo_ not ready for that conversation.

It didn't help that Tina was always saying what good moms they would be. She went on and on about it. You know, Quinn had said once (years ago) that Tina didn't know when to shut the fuck up sometimes. She hadn't understood that then, but she did now.

"And the winner Neil Patrick Harris teased, drawing her attention back to the screen. He looked at the envelope, and his right eyebrow-which she always considered the funnier of the two-quirked as he read the name...

And kept it to himself. The audience chuckled as he mimed a surprised face. On screen, in one of the tiny boxes, Rachel buried her face in her hands.

Santana said a quick prayer of appeal. _Lord, I don't ask for much..._

She replayed her own words in her head. _Okay, I ask for shit all the time, but could we please just add this-and maybe bump it to the front of the Instant Queue?_

_And I'm sorry for saying 'shit' in a prayer,_ she amended.

"Rachel Berry!" her absolute favorite gay finally revealed (sorry Kurt, there's _no_ way you're ever catching up after this"For Fannie Brice in 'Funny Girl'!"

Britt screamed and bounced up and down on the couch. "She won! She won!" Rachel still hadn't moved from her chair-she looked awestruck.

"Come on, Berry, get up!" Santana hollered at the screen, laughing as she wiped her eyes. Christ, was she crying? _Domesticity's turned you into such a wuss,_ her mind scolded.

She was just proud, that's all. It felt like one of their own had done good. Tonight someone from Lima, Ohio had just won the freakin' Tony Award.

Rachel had done them all proud. Even if the way the whole town treated her growing up she should have left and never looked back. But she didn't. That's just not who Rachel Berry was.

_No, she wanted to win so she could go home and rub it in everyone's faces,_ Santana snickered.

With prodding from the folks seated around her, a stunned Rachel stood up and made her way to the stage. She wiped her eyes when she stepped up to the podium, which was no surprise: Rachel had always been a wuss. Hell, she even cried over a Pizza Hut commercial once.

_What?_ That totally probably happened.

She and Britt waited with baited breath to hear their old friend's acceptance speech. Shit, knowing Berry it was going to be a long one, and suddenly she wished she'd gone to the bathroom during the commercial.

After a moment the applause died down, and Rachel-beaming like a new bride-only, you know, _more_, because it was Rachel-pressed a hand to her chest and stammered into the microphone. "I-I'm at a loss for words."

"Finally!" Santana rejoiced. "And it only took a Tony Award to do it."

Britt laughed and smacked her playfully. As Santana expected, however, the award's stifling effect was only temporary.

"I've dreamed of this moment since I was four-

"No, five actually," she corrected herself. "Sorry. I think when I was four I didn't understand that this and the Oscars were separate awards."

The audience laughed. _They think she's kidding_, Santana chuckled, shaking her head.

"I have been so blessed this year," the diva continued. "Not only for this," she held up the award, "but I also recently reconnected with an old friend of mine-and discovered-

She paused, blushing furiously. "The love of my life."

Wait, what? When did this happen? Britt looked over at her with her surprised expression. So she didn't know anything either. Britt talked to Berry more than she did, so she wondered.

Rachel had never mentioned-

Oh, shit. It wasn't Jesse St. James, was it? Oh please don't tell her that. That guy was such an a-hole. Hell, even Brittany thought so. A few months ago he guest starred in an episode of CSI: Chicago, and-of course-turned out to be the murderer. Britt's simple assessment of the situation"I knew he was the bad guy: once a douchebag, always a douchebag."

There you go. And Brittany could see the good in almost anyone. If she didn't like you:

You were pretty much a dick.

Santana _loathed_ Jesse St. James, and the idea of having to be nice to him whenever they came to visit...?

_Lord, is it too soon for another prayer?_ Somewhere along the way Santana's religious upbringing had been warped by her sarcastic sensibilities, and so asking favors of the Lord had developed its own scoring system-sort of like a video game. When your 'prayer meter' was full, you could make a request of the Almighty-and reasonably expect it-but it was depleted entirely. You then had to build it back up-whether through good deeds or finding a mushroom in a coin box-before asking for something else.

Of course, if that logic was sound, the fact that she had someone as nice as Brittany meant that she'd probably depleted her entire life's supply of divine providence in one fell swoop.

Either way, prayer wasn't going to save her now.

The only upside to Berry dating Jesse was that she knew the perfect gift to get him for the holidays: turtlenecks-because they hid the circumcision marks.

Shit: was he Jewish too? If so that joke was totally wasted-which gave her yet _another_ reason to hate Jesse St. James: he ruined her best 'dickhead' joke.

On the screen, the camera was alternating between Rachel on stage, and the individuals who sat on either side of her empty seat. No sign of the aforementioned Pecker von Phallushead. So that was good.

"I see the cameramen hovering near my seat," Berry grinned. "They didn't come along. We weren't quite ready to announce our relationship yet. The idea of being in the public eye is a bit daunting, and she values-"

Rachel's eyes went wide when she realized what she said. The collective breath of the entire audience hitched at once. You could hear a pin drop in Radio City Music Hall.

"Did she just say-?" Brittany asked.

"She sure did," Santana nodded. _Oh fuck, Berry_.

On screen, Rachel put her hand over her mouth and laughed. "Oh shit, I wasn't supposed to say that!"

Nervous laughter tittered through the auditorium. It was echoed on stage"Or 'oh shit' on live TV," she grimaced. "My publicist is going to kill me." Laughter again.

"Wait: Berry had _proclivities_?" Santana's inner monologue (accidentally) wondered aloud, "Shit, I _so_ would have hit that in high school...

"Ow!" she rubbed her arm. Damn, she forgot how strong Brittany was sometimes. "I meant before we were together."

Britt's eyes narrowed and Santana realized she may be on that Stairmaster tonight after all. No more popcorn for her...

Santana could see the diva's eyes watering. Rachel was looking at nothing in particular and Santana read the barely concealed panic on her face. Her heart went out to their old friend: she knew exactly how she felt.

Okay, maybe not _exactly_. She hadn't outed herself on national TV (Thank God it wasn't an awards show that anybody watched-like the People's Choice or something), but she had still been outed by someone else-not at a time of her choosing.

Their phone rang. Brittany looked at the display and slid her finger across the screen. "Hey Tina," she greeted their friend. "Yeah, we're watching. Hold on, I'll put you on speaker."

Britt set the phone on the couch between them. "Ohmigod, guys," Tina blurted out. "I can't-

"Hold on, Mercedes is calling," she interjected. "I'll go party line."

After a second they heard Mercedes greeting them on the phone, and Tina explained that they were all on together.

"So who is Rachel seeing?" Mercedes asked.

"I don't know," Brittany answered. "We didn't know anything either. And _we're_ Lebanese."

Santana turned her attention to the screen. The music had come up when Rachel perked up and waved them off. "No, no," she interjected. "Please don't go to commercial."

"Hey, guys, quiet. Rachel's saying something." Tina and Mercedes hushed just as the music died down. Rachel collected herself. Santana could see her throat working.

"If I run from this now," Rachel nodded, "I'll never recover. So just...give me a second."

"I feel so bad for her," Tina commented.

"She'll be fine," Santana assured them. "She's tough." God, she hoped she wasn't bluffing.

"Well," Rachel grimaced. "Hello, I'm Rachel Berry. You may remember me as the person who outed herself on live TV." Genuine laughter followed that, and she smiled, gaining confidence.

Although: if there was a safer forum to say that in front of, Santana couldn't think of a better one than a room full of Broadway performers. So that probably helped.

"I'm not going to go into a lot of detail," she elaborated, "suffice to say that-while I never identified as a lesbian-or even had any inclination that I was gay-I realized that I've been in love with this person for a very long time."

"Who _is_ it?" Mercedes muttered aloud.

"I don't know," Santana replied-half listening to her and half to Rachel.

"Text Kurt!" Tina suggested. "He'll know."

That was a good idea actually. One eye still on the TV, she fingered a quick message to their old friend without a typo.

"You have such talented fingers," Britt acknowledged, drawing a smirk out of her.

"What are you two _doing_?" Tina asked rhetorically. Well, Santana assumed it was rhetorical. She ignored it regardless.

Rachel continued: "And while I am personally _very_ proud to be with this woman-like, you should _see_ her," she interjected-eliciting another laugh from the audience, "she isn't out publicly yet, and I'm not going to be the one to do it."

"Someone call Finn Hudson," Brittany sneered-with surprising bitterness. Yeaahh, Finn was someone else they didn't really speak to either.

Her phone buzzed with Kurt's reply: _I'm in the audience. omg. SPEECHLESS! I had no idea!_

Okay, Kurt would totally lie to cover for Rachel, but she had a feeling he was telling the truth this time. "Kurt doesn't know," she informed the others.

That meant that this was also a pretty recent development. Rachel saw Kurt all the time. And he'd be the last person she'd hide this from: her best gay-that she went to musical theater college with? Nuh-uh.

Rachel laughed again on screen. "My manager and my agent have probably also quit by now. If you hear my purse buzzing, that's them texting their resignations." She smiled, then quirked a half grin out of a trembling lip. "So if you know anybody looking to represent a recently outed-"

She held up her trophy, "Tony award winning actress, give them my number."

Laughter again throughout the room, but Santana remembered her own assessment that this was an easy crowd. What about the rest of the world? Berry was up for a film role, she mentioned recently. She couldn't say what it was for, but she was _really_ excited.

Santana remembered seeing Laura Dern on the Ellen Show, relating how-even though she'd just been nominated for an Oscar-she didn't work for eighteen months after appearing on the pivotal 'coming out' episode of Ellen's old sitcom. And all she did was play gay on screen. Ellen herself went three _years_ without a job.

As much as it sucked, this would probably have serious repercussions on the diva's career.

This was not lost on Rachel, who was taking stock of the audience as if she was absorbing the moment and every last detail.

"You know, if this is it," Rachel said-in the quietest and clearest voice Santana'd had ever heard, "if my career is toast after this-if tonight is all I ever get..."

The diva fought back tears. "It'll be enough," she nodded, as if to affirm her own words as true. And she seemed to mean it. Santana wanted so bad for that to be true.

"All I ever really wanted was to be loved," the diva confessed, blushing terribly. "I have that now. So with her-and this-and the career I've had so far...

"It far outweighs whatever childish dreams I had for what I wanted out of life. So thank you for this," she said, and then simply:

"I love you, and good night."

Rachel nodded one last time and turned from the podium. All of Radio City Music Hall took to their feet in ovation. There wasn't a dry eye in the auditorium-or from the viewers at home, Santana guessed through blurred vision.

"Oh my God, guys!" Tina sniffled.

"I know," Britt cried.

"I want to call her but she just said her phone's in her purse," Tina remarked.

Shit. Santana'd forgotten about that.

"I'm going to text her now," Mercedes said, "just to tell that I love her and that I'm going to call her later. We all should."

A chorus of 'yeahs' signaled their agreement.

"I'm going to call Quinn," Santana said, "just in case she wasn't watching."

She dialed Quinn's number and added it to the party line.

"That's a great idea," Tina said, "she's living in New York now."

"She is?" Santana asked. Quinn never mentioned that, and she just emailed her a couple weeks ago. Maybe they could all make plans to meet up in New York or something. Rachel would probably need some friends around for the next few days.

A harried voice answered the phone. The former Cheerio was out of breath: "I can't talk, Santana. My personal life just imploded on live TV, and I'll never forgive myself if I don't-

"Taxi!" she bellowed. Shuffling preceded a muffled thump, and the ambient noise of the phone quieted. There was a tremor in Quinn's voice when she spoke again: "I-I gotta go."

Santana realized belatedly that her old captain had been addressing her. Before she could respond, Quinn blurted out frantic instructions: "Radio City, please-as fast as you can!"

The muffled reply was unintelligible. "I don't care," Quinn pleaded, "just get me close. I'll run if I have-"

And the line went dead.

Santana hadn't gotten a word in edge-wise in the brief, one-sided conversation. And the power of speech continued to elude her as she sifted through the former Cheerio's words.

Dead silence for a moment-and then an almost audible click when she realized-

"Holy shit!" Santana exclaimed.

Tina gasped, apparently making the same inference that she had. "Rachel and _Quinn_?" she almost shouted.

Brittany was looking over at her, speechless.

"Oh my God, you guys: I _knew_ it!" Mercedes yelled.

"You knew what?" Tina challenged.

"Come on: they had this thing going on since high school," Mercedes replied. "They were just _too_ obsessed with each other-you know what I mean? It was only a matter of ti-"

"Mercedes, you're so full of shit!" Tina guffawed. "You were as surprised as the rest of us. Don't sit there-"

Santana smiled as their argument dissolved into an unintelligible garble. For the record, she _also_ thought Mercedes was full of shit, but that wasn't important. She understood Tina's stake in this, though: they had been the biggest gossips in school. Mercedes' claim that she somehow intuitively knew about this was like TMZ getting scooped by Gawker.

Rachel and Quinn, huh...? Wow.

Santana thought back to the look on Rachel's face when she talked about the person she was with. The recipient of that look was one very lucky woman.

She hoped it _was_ Quinn. Her old captain had been dealt some tough knocks in life. She deserved someone who loved her whole-heartedly. And that was Rachel Berry. Loyal too: if she loved Quinn, she would have no greater defender than the diminutive diva.

"I think its time for that trip to New York," Brittany suggested.

She'd said it before, but truer words were never spoken: "B, You're a genius."

The smile she received warmed her to the core.

She thought about Rachel and Quinn-two of their oldest friends-being together. It was unbelievable-and yet looking back on high school it made total sense. And she grinned as she listened to Tina and Mercedes bicker at each other like not a day had gone by.

Then she turned to the woman who had actually vowed (in front of witnesses, no less!) to spend the rest of her life with _her_, of all people...

And she realized that life had turned out pretty good for the girl from Lima Heights Adjacent.


End file.
